Christmas That Could Have Been
by Black Phantom2
Summary: A Christmas story. R-rated for character deaths. Deaths, yes, as in plural.


**Christmas That Could Have Been.**

Dedicated, with respect, to Drs. P

Would not have taken up writing if he had not been there.

One of his songs is the basis of this story.

Christmas 2004. The peace negotiations had taken longer than World War III lasted, leaving everyone convinced that building up civilization again would taken even longer but at least I got through it all right as had my Mom. For the first time in 10 years I was able to go to the farm in Kansas and visit her.

Boy, when she finds out that meanwhile I had married Lucille, got four sons and a fifth child on the way, saying she would be surprised would be an understatement.

At first how to get there was a problem. But after cashing in some favors my family and I became 'essential military equipment' and transported to McConnell AFB. And there I managed to borrow Colonel Clothier's three-horse horse sledge.

And so the trip began…

…We're riding in a horse sledge, along the forest track.

It's winter and a freezing wind blows chill upon our back.

The horses' hooves, they crunch upon the freshly fallen snow.

It's night-time in Kansas, and twenty-five below.

We've got our children with us, the precious little mites,

Although we should not take them out on dark and chilly nights.

The woods are full of shadows and of mysteries profound,

A place where wild animals do frequently abound.

We're on our way to Wichita, but the road is oh so long.

To try and keep our spirits up we sing a cheerful song.

Behind I see a movement, something following with stealth,

Something dark and numerous, and hazardous to health!

They're still some way behind us, but I see by looking round

That there's a massive horde of them, quickly gaining ground.

They're catching up and now I see with anxious consternation,

My family and I are in an awkward situation.

Looming figures speeding nigh, all running through the night

On four strong legs they lope along, a truly fearsome sight.

Their pale eyes and drooling fangs are plainly to be seen

A pack of hungry wolves they are, malevolent and mean.

Although it's grim I try to keep as calm as calm can be.

I sing out loud some soothing songs my mother taught to me.

We have a goodly repertoire and sing until we're hoarse

And all the while the wolves they come a'chasing us in force.

It's still a score of miles till we come to Wichita at last.

I'm glad we took fresh horses at the stage that we just passed.

Too bad a pack of hungry wolves are snapping at our rear,

Hunger gleaming in their eyes and filling us with fear.

Acting nice and casual, not making any fuss,

Beneath my wife's umbrella we covertly discuss.

I discreetly whisper to her, looking thoughtfully about:

"Which one of them do you think we could maybe do without?"

"Should it be young Virgil?", "No, 'cause Virgil plays the flute."

"Then how about Scott?", "Scott's way too cute!"

"John, then?", "Not John, with his lovely singing voice!"

And so it is inevitable that Gordon is our choice.

Tearfully I seize him in the middle of a verse

And fling him from the horse sledge to the pack of greedy curs.

The wolves are now distracted by this unexpected treat

With only fifteen miles to go we might escape defeat.

How lucky that young Gordon gave the wolves a tasty snack.

Thanks to him it seems we've shaken off the pack.

We're safe for now and speed along as if 'twere in a dream

I crack the whip with all my might to urge along our team.

Again we hear a gruesome howl, our hopes are turned to dust.

The wolves are back, it's John's turn, so throw him out I must.

The poor dear child, so well-behaved and always full of smiles.

Two kids down and still I fear we have to go ten miles.

I look across to my dear wife, her tears they fall like rain,

And glance behind and see the wolves are on us once again.

A shame to lose poor Virgil with his talent for the flute,

Then again, to tell the truth, he wasn't very good.

Now Virgil's gone at last I think we have a short reprieve,

But not for long because the wolves our trail will not leave.

Scott's dying screams, they are an agony to bear

But five miles more is all we have to go until we're there.

Now it's just my wife and I, we sing a nice duet.

If we can only hang in there we might just make it yet.

But sadly I must feed her to the hungry congregation.

Now it's just another mile till I reach my destination.

I sing a little louder just as Wichita heaves into view

I do a little dance for joy but sadly, as I do,

I slip and fall and as I'm eaten think "Oh woe is me!

They say that Wichita's a lovely town, but now I'll never see!"


End file.
